


Operation Homecoming

by PlainJane



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock Roulette, Kissing, M/M, Parentlock, Post S3, Sherlock Has a Plan, johnlockchallenges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlainJane/pseuds/PlainJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows what he wants, and he's set about to get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Johnlock Challenges (johnlockchallenges.tumblr.com) Valentine's Day Exchange. Written for quail-burn whose prompt was "super cute kisses and word puns and revelations." I really hope this catches at least some of that <3
> 
> Rating is only for brief discussions of sex in the epilogue. Sorry--want to be safe :D

> _“I wouldn’t have minded if he’d left me for another woman. I could have taken that. I mean I knew when he was shagging someone at work. But this?”_

Sherlock padded into the kitchen with his empty cup. The kettle wasn’t on. Why wasn’t the kettle on? He’d asked John for more tea ages ago. Where _was_ John?

> _“It isn’t just that he left you, though. It’s much worse than that.”_
> 
> _“I stayed as long as I could, but eventually it became too much. He lost his job. Started his creepy little fan club. I asked him to get help and he left. Just like that.” [audience commiserates]_
> 
> _“But you still let him see the kids?”_

They were out of chocolate HobNobs. Sherlock settled for some of John’s Jammie Dodgers and made his way back to his desk.

> _“We’ve been divorced five years, but, yeah, I let the children see him. I’ve done my best to be supportive so they’d still have a dad. But I just can’t take any more! He’s been in trouble with the police. He wanders around the city at all times of day and night. His flat looks like a bomb went off. And this weekend, my son came home after spending Friday night with his dad wearing a…”_
> 
> _“It’s all right, Felicia. Get it out.”_
> 
> _“My son came home wearing a deerstalker!” [audience grumbles]_

He froze with the cup halfway to his lips, rotating slowly toward the telly. He’d missed out on two years’ worth of Jeremy Kyle and managed to delete how much he enjoyed it; now he tried to catch it whenever he was at home. Somehow, though, this episode was becoming very personal.

> _“And?”_
> 
> _“Justin told me his father had hosted some kind of meeting while he was there. All these weird people — obsessed, like my ex-husband!”_
> 
> _“Obsessed with…”_
> 
> _“With Sherlock Holmes!”_

Sherlock listened, fascinated and more than a little appalled, as the woman recounted her husband’s preoccupation with the world’s only consulting detective. He was so absorbed that he missed the sound of the door and John’s heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“Right. I’ve got you some chicken tikka and rice,” the doctor announced. “Promise me you’ll eat it. I couldn’t find the coffee you like. Chap said they’re not carrying it anymore, so if you want it you’ll have to go to that specialty place Mycroft suggested…What?”

John set the shopping bags down on the kitchen table and stepped through the sliding doors. “Sherlock? What’s wrong?”

“This — this — ”

“What?” John turned, following Sherlock’s waving hand to look at the television. “You’re watching Jeremy Kyle again? I don’t know what you see in —”

“SHHH!!”

> _“Well, we have a surprise for you, Felicia. We thought your ex-husband deserved a chance to tell his side of the story, so here he is! The man who left you for Sherlock Holmes: Phillip Anderson!”_

“Good god,” Sherlock muttered.

There was a long pause, following which John chuckled a little. “Poor Anderson. Wonder whatever possessed him to go along with _this_.”

Sherlock scowled at him, slapping the remote back down to the desk after muting the telly. “But why bring _me_ into it? I didn’t ask him to develop his fixation. This is hardly my fault.”

“Well, no,” John agreed. “But you have let him follow you around for years with his little band of acolytes.”

“I have not. I have no control over Anderson and his…people.”

“And you squared it with Greg after the whole fake-Ripper thing.”

“I thought that showed remarkable forbearance on my part, given his role in my ‘downfall,’” Sherlock groused. “And then he showed up with Mycroft to search my flat for drugs! I have no interest in the man and his bizarre conclave. I certainly couldn’t have predicted he would throw his whole life away.” Sherlock fiddled with his tea cup. “Why would he do it?”

“Sorry?”

“WHY? Why would he leave his wife and his children?” Sherlock turned on John, wide-eyed.

“Well, it’s hard for a relationship to survive when one of the partners is tied to someone or something outside the marriage…” John’s expression shuttered suddenly.

Sherlock raised a brow.

“I just mean that you are larger than life and it’s easy for someone to get caught up in that. I guess Anderson couldn’t let go.” John swallowed hard. “It’s sad, really. His kids are the ones who’ll suffer for it.”

John flushed under Sherlock’s scrutiny. The detective looked away, now thoroughly puzzled.

“Anyway, the thing with you obviously wasn’t the Andersons’ only issue. It’s rarely just one thing when…something like that happens. We know he was shagging Donovan long before we even knew about Moriarty. There was something wrong with the marriage, or with him.”

John stood behind the chair in which Sherlock had slumped. He placed a hand on the taller man’s shoulder and squeezed.

“It’s not your fault,” John offered.

Sherlock swallowed hard at the touch of John’s hand through the thin fabric of his button-down shirt.

“All right, then?” John waited for Sherlock to look up at him. When the detective smiled, John started to pull his gloves back on. “Good. Lay off the crap telly, mate, and I will see you tomorrow. Do you want me to meet you at Bart’s?”

Sherlock bolted from his chair to follow John to the door. “Tomorrow? But we have to go through the emails from the Singh case!”

“Look, I told you today wasn’t a good day,” John said patiently. He slapped Sherlock on the arm. “Emily went to her little friend’s to play after pre-school, but I have to pick her up by…Shit, I have to get moving. I need to be there before five.”

“But…”

“Sherlock,” John started wearily. “Look, we’ve talked about this. I want to be here for you, and I am as often as I can be. But Em’s only three, and I’m all she has.”

The detective’s head drooped.

“My little girl needs me, Sherlock,” John said solemnly. “I’ve restocked the kitchen and we spent all morning at a crime scene, but now I have to go home.”

“Doesn’t have to be like this,” Sherlock mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Sherlock repeated irritably, meeting John’s eyes. “I’ve told you: This would all be so much simpler if you moved back in here…”

“And I’ve told you: Emily needs a room of her own,” John sighed. “I know you’d love to have everything back the way it was, but things have changed.”

Sherlock watched the shadow fall across John’s face. They didn’t talk about Mary. John wasn’t ready (might never be ready) and Sherlock had no idea what he would say anyway. “I know that,” he said softly.

John’s attempt at a smile was a little crooked. “I know you do. And I’m chuffed that you’d want me back here after all this time living on your own and having the place to yourself.”

Sherlock huffed and turned to flop into his easy chair.

“You know there isn’t enough room at 221B for all of us,” John continued evenly. “And you having a child underfoot…”

“What about it? You think I would be a poor influence on your progeny?”

“No, of course not,” John said.  “You know perfectly well I’m delighted Emily adores you and has done pretty much since the day she was born. It’s just that, well, she needs routine, structure. You know, normal everyday kid stuff. And she’s not likely to get that with — ” John cut himself off and pursed his lips. “And anyway the experiments might be a little dangerous, if they’re left lying around…”

John started as Sherlock jumped from the chair and grabbed a box that had been abandoned by the fireplace. He rushed into the kitchen and started tossing his equipment into it.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, stop it!” John followed, attempting to restrain the taller man. “Hey, stop it. Come on.” He managed to catch hold of Sherlock’s elbow and held on, turning the man to face him. “This is…I don’t know if sweet is the right word. That you’d be willing to do this for me and for Em; that means a lot.”

The two men stared at one another. Sherlock was fairly certain John would be able to hear his heart beating. Certainly John would notice that Sherlock was staring at his mouth. He could hear the breath hitch in John’s chest — he’d heard that sound before. Nearly four years they had been dancing around it now.

Four years during which Sherlock had tried to give John enough space to be a husband and father, because it was what his friend wanted. He’d killed a man to save John’s wife. And tried to protect her from her former employer, James Moriarty. And held John when she died.

And waited.

Sherlock knew that John knew. John had seen it in his eyes that night on the dance floor at the wedding. Sherlock hadn’t been able to hide the feelings that had finally taken hold.

He loved John Watson, in absolutely every sense of the word.

At length, John broke the spell, his eyes darting to the door. “I really do have to go.” He patted Sherlock’s arm once more. “I’ll see you tomorrow at Bart’s. And don’t forget it’s your turn to bring Molly coffee.”

John turned to leave, hesitating in the doorway. “Thanks.”

Sherlock watched him leave, blinking.

This simply couldn’t continue. Something had to be done.

But what?


	2. Chapter 2

**_Operation Homecoming: Day 1_ **

_I have contemplated all the options, and there is nothing else for it — John and Emily belong here at 221B with me. Any other arrangement is unacceptable._

_His protest about the number of rooms in the flat is fallacious. Of course Emily will have her own room._

_Just as soon as John moves into mine._

_It’s true I’d never considered myself capable of this kind of intimacy in the past. As it turns out, I found the presence of another human being in my private spaces relatively easy to tolerate (see Magnusson/Janine/2014). The idea of sharing my room with John, however, is not only tolerable, but very pleasant._

_Of course, unlike the period before my aborted engagement, I’ll be sharing more than just living space with John. I confess I’m still somewhat anxious about my ability to maintain my end of a satisfying physical relationship, but I am very determined. I do want him. More than I thought possible._

_It took me some time to reach the conclusion that I am better with John Watson in my life than I am without. It took me much longer to realize that the profound feelings he arouses in me are not a threat to my work or my mind. He has permeated my consciousness to the point that I cannot purge him and I don’t want to. He belongs to me as fully as I do him._

_The only danger he poses is in the distraction caused by his absence._

_It was apparent in our discussion yesterday that he sees something of himself in Anderson. I believe he is concerned he will lose himself in me, or perhaps more accurately, in us. It seems he does harbour a deep-seated fear of failing his other loved ones on my account._

_I’ve always understood his attraction to me, in spite of his protests to the contrary. This new revelation, though, may provide the final clue as to why he has resisted what even I cannot._

_To these ends, I’ve devised a strategy for his imminent return to 221B. Beginning today._

* * *

**St. Bart’s hospital morgue, Wednesday 10 a.m.**

“Good morning, Molly,” Sherlock chimed, handing her a decaf, half-sweet soy latte. “John.” He handed the doctor a Vienna roast — milk, no sugar. “Lovely of you to make the time for this, Molly. Your assistance is always appreciated.”

Sherlock stared down at the corpse Molly had carefully laid out on the table for them. He peered at the side of the woman’s face as he sipped his own triple shot cappuccino. There was a marked silence in the room. Sherlock looked up to find both of his friends staring at him.

“Something the matter?”

“Are you all right?” John asked, his brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“Sherlock, is something wrong?” Molly piped up, also looking very concerned. Neither she nor John had tasted their coffee.

“Wrong?” Sherlock looked from one to the other. “Why would you think something is wrong?”

“Well…” Molly started.

“You brought coffee. You never remember to bring coffee,” John said.

“I was passing that way. And you told me to.”

“I have done dozens of times, and you’ve never remembered.”

Sherlock shrugged.

“And I have never seen you this…cheerful or pleasant. Or appreciative,” John continued. “Not unless you were angling for something. Or hiding something.”

“I don’t think that’s fair — ”

“Which is it?” Molly asked, finally sipping at her drink. Her eyes flew open as she did. “You got it right,” she said softly. “My coffee is exactly right.”

“Of course it is,” Sherlock replied indignantly. “It’s hardly a complicated formula.”

“But…”

“What’s going on? What have you done?” John was sounding a little anxious now. _Counterproductive._ “Is there something in the coffee?” John started to reach for Molly’s cup.

“I have not _done_ anything. Nothing is going on. There is nothing in the coffee! I am…making an effort.” Sherlock waved a hand in the air. “Had I known it would be met with such scepticism, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

John and Molly exchanged a look.

“You’re right,” John said finally. “You’re absolutely right. I apologize.”  He took a sip of his coffee and, finding it exactly as he would have ordered it himself, he smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile back.

Molly cleared her throat. “Do you need me for anything else or can I get back to work?”

“Oh, yes. Molly. Um, no I think we’ll be fine here. For the moment.”

Sherlock nodded at her and set his own cup down. He pulled out his pocket magnifier and returned to his assessment of Mrs. Singh.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Operation Homecoming: Day 2_ **

_Day one was a marginal success. John was pleased with my demeanour and my behaviour, though I suppose my “temper tantrum” at noon (when he had to leave to pick up Emily) put a rather dark cloud over things._

_It wasn’t that I objected to his leaving; I simply couldn’t find an appropriate way to express that I would…miss him._

_I may not always notice him leaving, but I always miss him._

_Somehow I need to prove to him that I am a desirable romantic partner and that I will not overshadow or overwhelm him or his responsibilities to Emily._

_I also need to demonstrate that I am capable of being part of his familial relationship. Emily Jane Watson is the only child I have ever deemed worthy of my attention. I need John to understand that I will love and care for her, and protect her, as he would._

_This begins today._

* * *

**New Scotland Yard, Thursday, 11:15 a.m.**

“Sorry to interrupt, Greg, but I’m going to have to duck out,” John apologized. He slid the stack of forms back across the desk to DCI Lestrade. “I’ll finish these up tomorrow, yeah?”

“Sure, fine." Greg grinned. "Give the little one a kiss for me.”

Sherlock quietly began tidying his own paperwork and, without a word, passed it back to Greg. The DCI took it with a furrowed brow.

“You leaving, too?”

Sherlock nodded, standing and beginning to pull his gloves on. John paused in the middle of zipping his jacket.

“Where are you off to?” he asked Sherlock pleasantly.

“I’m going with you, to pick up Emily.”

John shook his head as though not quite sure he heard correctly. “But…why?”

“Because I haven’t seen her in nearly a week. And because I thought you might like the company.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. Good. Sure.” John shook his head again and finished doing up his jacket. He nodded at Greg. “See you.”

Greg watched them with a strange expression. “’Bye. You two have fun. With Emily.”

John’s brows knit together. “Uh, well, I’m just going to give her her lunch and let her have a nap. Not terribly exciting.” He turned to Sherlock. “Not sure you’ll want to stick around for that.”

Sherlock made a non-committal noise and gestured for John to leave Greg’s office ahead of him.

They rode the tube in silence, John occasionally glancing at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock gave no indication that he’d noticed, instead staring intently at the text conversation he was having with Mycroft’s PA.

When they arrived at Greenbough Nursery School and Kindergarten, most of the other children had dispersed. Only Emily and a little boy remained in the cloakroom.

“Ah, Dr. Watson!” the teacher greeted them as they entered. “I was just about to ring you.”

John looked mildly irritated for a moment, Sherlock thought, but covered it admirably with a polite smile. “No need. Here we are. Ready to go, Em?”

The little girl nodded from her perch on the cloakroom bench, where she was swinging her wellie-clad feet. She was dressed in her favourite pink-striped tights and rosebud print dress. Her blond waves had been covered with a cerise knit cap (a gift from Mrs. Hudson) and she was already wearing her coat.

“Right then. Come on,” John said brightly. He crouched down in front of her and Emily immediately flung herself into his arms. John stood, taking her with him.

“’Lo, Papa,” she mumbled into his neck. Spying Sherlock over her father’s shoulder, she gasped.

“Hello, Emily,” Sherlock said, winking at her.

“Hello!” the little girl enthused. She twisted in her father’s arms as John turned to face Sherlock, reaching for the taller man. She tilted her face toward him, eyes closed, lips pursed for the expected kiss.

Sherlock hesitated briefly — Emily had always been very affectionate with him and he had always done his best to reciprocate in some way, though he occasionally felt ill-equipped. Now, however, it was crucial that he not disappoint her. He caught John's eye and the look of understanding there. John smiled at him and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Sherlock returned it and leaned in to give Emily a gentle peck. When he withdrew, he found Emily smiling up at him. She patted his cheek with one small hand before turning back to her father.

“Papa?”

“Yes, love?” John hitched her further up into his arms as he swung her little bag over his other shoulder and made his way to the school door.

“Can we have fish and chips for lunch?”

“I suppose,” John answered. He turned through the school gate and out onto the pavement, Sherlock keeping pace beside him. “Why?”

Emily looked from her father to Sherlock and back again before leaning in to whisper (loudly) in her father’s ear, “It’s his favourite.”

Sherlock felt a rush of pleasure at the child’s consideration. This was heightened by the “I told you so” expression on John’s face.

“Perhaps,” Sherlock started, feeling a bit uncertain. “Perhaps we could have lunch at the chippy on the Marylebone Road and then, Emily, you could come and visit Mrs. Hudson.”

“Oh, Sherlock, I don’t think that’s a very good — ”

“Please, Papa!” Emily crowed. “Can we?”

“And what about your nap, madame?” John teased his daughter. “Gran Hudson doesn’t have a bed for little girls.”

“Emily could take her nap in my flat while you and I have a look at those emails,” Sherlock offered lightly.

John gave him a look that expressed his dismay at this suggestion. Sherlock sighed.

“It’s just been cleaned.”

John hesitated as they reached the main road. If they turned left, they would walk the three blocks to the home John had shared with Mary and now shared with his daughter. If they turned right, they could return to the train station.

John looked down at his daughter, who had reached out for Sherlock’s hand. She was now clutching it to her little chest, pressed between her own body and John’s, her blue eyes shining with expectation.

John gave a little sigh of resignation and Sherlock instantly relaxed.

“All right,” John chuckled. “You win.”

When they finally arrived at 221B, Emily was fading. They’d eaten a very pleasant meal, with Emily sharing chips from Sherlock’s portion instead of her father’s and chatting animatedly about her new friend Sasha. On the tube, she’d whispered in Sherlock’s ear, asking him to tell her “stories” about the people in the carriage with them. By the time they’d reached Baker Street station, though, she’d begun to yawn.

John carried her up the familiar stairs, her head nestled on his shoulder. He stopped outside the sitting room, about to turn into Sherlock’s bedroom.

“John, wait — upstairs,” Sherlock whispered, pointing in the direction of John’s old room.

John hesitated. “But is it…”

“Trust me.”

Sherlock started up the stairs ahead of him. At the landing, he pushed open the door to the second bedroom, and John gasped.

“Sherlock, what did you do?” The doctor stepped cautiously into the room, turning and staring. He made a complete rotation, taking in the new décor. “It’s Beatrix Potter. Emily loves Beatrix Potter.”

“Yes. I know.”

John stared at [the room](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xa9BBDZWwRI/UlrapukgpYI/AAAAAAAAQTU/sbkiTGJhNuc/s1600/peter%2Brabbit%2Bbedroom%2B-%2Bdecorating%2Bpeter%2Brabbit%2Btheme%2Bbedroom%2B-%2Bpeter%2Brabbit%2Btheme%2Broom%2Bideas%2B-1.jpg), shaking his head. With Mycroft’s help, Sherlock had arranged for new furniture to be delivered and set up early that morning. A child-sized canopy bed had been made with green crushed velvet throw and dust ruffle and a garden print duvet. An antique wardrobe decorated with hand-painted Peter Rabbit sat in the corner, and a bookshelf (fully stocked with Beatrix Potter, Dr. Suess, Jean de Brunhoff, Kenneth Grahame, A.A. Milne, E.B. White, Roald Dahl, J.M. Barrie, Lewis Carroll, Maurice Sendak, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling) had been placed by the door. A refinished antique chair upholstered in a red check sat by the bed, and the walls had been decorated with original Potter prints and willow branch wreaths. There was a soft, fluffy carpet covering the floorboards and frilly curtains over the window.

“There wasn’t time to have it painted,” Sherlock said, gesturing at the room. “But I thought…if Emily were to…visit…”

John cleared his throat. He tried to look up at Sherlock and failed, instead focusing his attention on the centre of the taller man’s chest as he whispered. “Thank you.”

Sherlock nodded, swallowing around the unexpected lump in his throat. He snuck from the room, turning to watch as John tucked Emily into the bed.

“There we are, sweetheart,” the doctor whispered tenderly, covering her with the crushed velvet throw. John smoothed the blonde fringe from her brow. “And aren’t you going to get a surprise when you wake up and see what Uncle Sherlock has done.”

Sherlock held his breath.

“Your very own room at Baker Street.”


	4. Chapter 4

**_Operation Homecoming: Day 6_ **

_Things have been progressing to my satisfaction._

_That first afternoon, John and I worked until Emily woke up — which was difficult to miss. We could hear her squealing down the stairs._

_She seemed very pleased with her room. I was obliged to send Mycroft and his people a thank you for their assistance, but it was worth it. When John brought Emily down to have tea with Mrs. Hudson, she rewarded me with a hug and another kiss, telling John that I was her “very favourite.”_

_Favourite “what” I could not say, nor do I understand the criteria. Still, she was happy and that was…very good._

_Later that week, we took Emily to the pictures. It was animated. Very bright. Very loud. I have no idea what it was about (I filtered all of it — how could I not?), but it didn’t matter as Emily recounted the entire film to me on the way back to Baker Street for supper with “Gran.”_

_As they were leaving that evening, there was an…incident. John had Emily in his arms, and she asked for a kiss goodbye. As I was retreating from said kiss, John's lips brushed over my cheek and he muttered, “G’night, love.”_

_I froze. So did John._

_I do not think he intended to kiss me. Nor to call me “love.” Nevertheless, I believe it’s a very good sign._

_Also, we solved the Singh case. It was her great-nephew._

* * *

**British Museum, Saturday, 10:20 a.m.**

“I’m really amazed,” John said wonderingly, watching as his three–year-old joined a group of like-aged children with their museum guide.

“When I saw it in the paper, I thought Emily might enjoy it,” Sherlock replied, crossing his legs. They had retired to a bench with the other parents while the history experience program was going on. “She’s a very curious child. Very bright.”

“Yeah, she is,” John replied, beaming. “She’s a miracle.”

Sherlock nodded his agreement.

“You don’t need to feel like you have to stay, though,” John said. “If you have something else you need to do.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay. Just didn’t want you to be bored sitting here, that’s all.”

Sherlock turned, brows furrowed. “I’m not, but would you rather I left? I don’t mean to impose…”

“No!” John exclaimed, laying a restraining hand on Sherlock’s thigh. “Not at all—please don’t think that. I — ” John looked down at where his hand was resting. Sherlock did, too. The hand lingered, perhaps for a moment too long, before John removed it. He met Sherlock’s eyes. “We should talk about it. The…thing.”

“Thing?”

“My overly fond farewell.”

“Should we?”

“It was a reflex.”

“Naturally.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“I understand.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Sherlock stared at John for some time. Finally, he licked his lips and said, “I was surprised, but not uncomfortable.”

John followed the passage of Sherlock’s tongue, his own lips slightly parted. “Oh.”

“If you were to be ‘overly fond’ again in the future,” Sherlock said softly. “I-I wouldn’t…object…to a similar…”

“Fondness has never been my trouble,” John admitted, his voice a bit strained. “Jesus, Sherlock, you know I have a hard time with this…stuff. I just don’t know — god, could we really…”

“PAPA!!”

Emily’s voice cut through the intimacy of their conversation like a knife. John jerked to his feet, relaxing only when he spotted the little girl waving happily from her spot beside the statue of Ramesses II. She was now wearing a miniaturized reproduction of the statue’s headdress and looking very pleased with herself.

“Come take my picture!” she called.

John glanced back at Sherlock.

“Go on,” Sherlock said. “Emily’s waiting.”


	5. Chapter 5

**_Operation Homecoming: Day 15_ **

_After a minor setback (I managed to sprain my ankle chasing our suspect in the Higginbotham case and have been coping with limited mobility since) I would like to say that the operation is proceeding as planned. However, I am struggling to understand what John is thinking and feeling._

_Ordinarily, the man is an open book to me. Sentiment, though, is always more difficult to parse._

_Emily insisted on visiting every day while I was injured. And I rather enjoyed it, in spite of the fact that John remained sullen and distant during each of their stopovers. He hardly spoke to me and when he did, he was terse. I have no idea what I’ve done wrong._

_Clearly Emily loves me and loves being at 221B. I believe John loves me and wants to be with me. I have endeavoured to demonstrate that I can be part of both of their lives without detracting from their relationship. I have been very careful not to monopolize John’s time or overwhelm his other responsibilities with cases._

_What am I missing?_

* * *

**221B Baker Street, Wednesday, 1 p.m.**

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“John…”

“Don’t do that. Just answer me: Are you up to this?”

Sherlock sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

“Your ankle is okay?”

“You looked at the medical report yourself! I’m fine.”

John looked over to the sofa where Emily was standing, playing with her ponies on the coffee table. She was yawning.

“You’ve never had her on your own,” John said, looking back at Sherlock.

“So we can’t possibly know that I'll fail, can we?”

John pursed his lips, studying his friend . Finally he nodded and handed over Emily’s bag. “It’s only the one doc who’s called in sick, so I’ll be done by teatime.”

“Fine.”

“She needs a nap now, and then…” John hesitated. “You’ll play with her?”

“Of course.”

“Nothing toxic. Or scary,” John hedged. “Remember, she’s three…”

“I will restrain myself,” Sherlock sighed. “Ponies, stuffed bears, those strange little block things…”

John nodded, glancing back at his daughter. “She may need a snack.”

“I have some fresh scones from Mrs. Hudson.”

John exhaled heavily. “All right. Okay. I guess I’ll just go, then.” He turned for the door and paused. “Thank you.”

Sherlock nodded solemnly, thinking that John really must get out of the habit of thanking him in doorways when _leaving_.

John nodded back, one side of his mouth beginning to turn up into a smile. Then he was gone.

The afternoon passed in relative calm: Emily was happy to settle into her room for her nap, provided that Sherlock read an excerpt from _The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin_. While she was asleep, Sherlock busied himself with sorting through the requests in his email inbox.

At about 2:15, Emily called his name. He made his way up the stairs (perhaps a bit more quickly than usual) to find her sitting at the window bench.

“I like this,” she said softly.

Sherlock crouched beside her. “What are we looking at?”

“Gran's flowers,” Emily said. “I like her garden. I like my window. I like Gran being downstairs. And I like eating my dinner with you.”

Sherlock swallowed. “So you like…being here?”

Emily nodded, her tousled blond curls bouncing. "It's good."

Sherlock chuckled a little. "Would you like something to eat?"

Emily nodded again and clambered down from the window bench, easily slipping her hand into his as they walked toward the stairs.

She was still licking jam from her fingers some ten minutes later when a familiar voice boomed up the stairs.

"Hello? Anyone home?" 

 Emily cried with delight and abandoned the kitchen table. “Uncle Greg!”

Greg and Molly had arrived at the landing and Emily immediately launched herself at them.

“Auntie Molly. Uncle GREG!” she shouted. Greg deftly caught her, swinging her up in his arms.

“Hello, poppet!” he kissed her cheek enthusiastically. “How are you? Just up from your nap?”

“Uh-huh. In my Peter Rabbit room!”

“Peter Rabbit?” Greg repeated, mirroring her enthusiasm. “Well, that sounds splendid.”

“Come and see,” Emily giggled, sliding from his embrace and heading straight back up the stairs.

“Oi! Hold up. Wait for me,” Greg called, chuckling.

Molly watched them go with a smile. “He’s so good with kids.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as a thought occurred. He glanced down at Molly for a moment. “You and Lestrade have been dating for…two years now?”

“That’s right.”

“I see.” Sherlock studied her a little longer. “And when are you going to tell him?”

Molly rolled her eyes and marched into the sitting room. Sherlock followed, casually taking her coat and setting it on John’s chair. “Tonight. Please, Sherlock…”

“Oh, I won't say anything," Sherlock promised. "So…planned?”

They both sat, Sherlock in his chair and Molly on the sofa.

“Yes, but we weren’t sure how good a chance there was.” She bit her lip. “He’s going to be so excited. He’s always wanted children.”

Sherlock nodded.

Molly glanced around the flat. “So everything all right with Emily, then?”

“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be — ” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “John asked you to come and check up on me.”

“No, not ‘check up on,’” Molly defended. “He just mentioned that Emily would be here with you and it might be a good chance for us to see her. That’s all.”

“You are an atrocious liar. Never going to make it all the way until tonight. How on earth have you kept it from him since…Monday?”

“Sherlock…”

“Oh, never mind.” He jumped to his feet and started to pace. “Doesn’t matter. John doesn’t trust me with his child or his…anything else. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

Molly’s lips turned up in a knowing smile and she crossed the room to lay a hand on his arm. “Sherlock, have you _asked_ John to trust you with his…anything else? I mean actually used your words and told him what it is you would like?”

Sherlock frowned at her. “I asked him to move back here! And I’ve been doing everything I can to prove to him that I can do this. I can be part of his life without taking him away from Emily. That I can be polite and responsible and — ”

“But have you just said, ‘John, I love you and I want us to be together’?”

Sherlock blanched, his lips twitching. “Why would you think that is what I want to say?”

Molly shook her head at him. “I have been watching you and John for years, Sherlock. _Years_.”

“Oh.”

“When I finally realized that Greg was hinting around at maybe asking me out, I decided that one of us needed to be brave. So I just sat him down and told him I liked him and wanted to take him for coffee.”

“And that _worked_?”

Molly laid a hand over her still-flat tummy. “Evidently.”

“Mols?” Greg’s voice carried down the stairs. “Em says you need to see this, too. It’s very, very important.”

“Coming!” Molly called back. She patted Sherlock’s arm and left the room.

Sherlock was still deep in thought when the door opened downstairs. He held his breath as he recognized the footsteps on the stairs. John appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath and rosy-cheeked.

“You're early.”

“Slow day,” John said cheerfully. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Sherlock muttered.

“I saw the, uh, car downstairs. Is Greg here?”

“And Molly.”

“Oh, right. Well, that’s nice.”

“You didn’t trust me,” Sherlock said petulantly.

John hung his head. “No. No. That isn’t it. It’s just — well, this isn’t really your long suit, is it? Kids, home and hearth. Family…”

Sherlock stepped closer, glaring down at John. “But it _could_ be. If someone would give me the chance!”

John squared his shoulders. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I-I-I could…” Sherlock took a deep breath. “I love you and I want us to be together so you can move back here because this is your home and Emily loves it here and she has her own room because you would share mine and it would be our room because we would sleep together because I love you.”

John’s mouth had fallen open. He blinked helplessly for a few minutes. Sherlock began to panic as the silence grew.

“John? John are you…all right?”

John shook his head, raising a hand to forestall any further outbursts. He swayed a little and sat heavily on the coffee table. He cleared his throat. “Well, that was…”

“Too much?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, no. And not really news, just — it sounds so much bigger when you run it all together like that.”

Sherlock dropped to his knees in front of John. “Fine. Let me fix it. Tell me what you need to hear. What can I say to prove to you that we _can_ do this?”

John’s face softened and he smiled. He reached for Sherlock’s hand. “There’s nothing more to say, is there?”

“There isn’t?” Sherlock tried to keep the terror from his voice. “Are you saying…no?”

John placed his finger under Sherlock’s chin and drew the man toward him. Sherlock obeyed instinctively, his eyes fluttering closed as John drew him into a gentle kiss.

Sherlock had imagined this moment. Played it over and over in his mind — when he was chasing Moriarty’s network alone, when he was planning John’s wedding to Mary, and when he was lying in his bed at night in a flat that was empty of John.

He couldn’t have imagined the wonderful sensation of John’s firm mouth pressed to his own, settled so possessively over Sherlock’s bottom lip. Or the wonderful scrape of stubbly chins. Or the tentative brush of John’s tongue over the seam of his lips. Or the taste of John Watson…Oh, god, the taste of John Watson.

“Papa?”

Sherlock retreated from the kiss, heart pounding. Emily was standing right beside them, while Greg and Molly hovered in the doorway looking a little sheepish.

John recovered first. “Yes, sweetheart?”

Emily looked at them both quizzically, her little nose wrinkling. “Is Uncle Sherlock your _boyfriend_?”

John looked at Sherlock and, seeing the confirmation in the other man’s eyes, he nodded. “He is. What do you think?”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Can we LIVE HERE?!”

“Would you like that?” John asked, helping as Emily moved to climb into his lap. “For the three of us to live here together? Papa and Uncle Sherlock helping Uncle Greg, and Gran down the stairs. Would that be okay?”

Emily nodded vehemently. “Can I keep the Peter Rabbit room?”

“Of course you can,” Sherlock assured her. “I decorated it especially for you.”

Emily beamed at him. “I want to bring Mr. Turtle and my dolls and how do we tell Father Christmas? Is this home now?”

John was chuckling, hugging his little girl close while maintaining his hold on Sherlock’s hand. He kissed Emily’s hair and grinned at Sherlock.

“Yes, love, I think it is.”


	6. Epilogue

**_Operation Homecoming: Results_ **

_John and Emily have been living at Baker Street with me for exactly eight months. I will not pretend that it has been without its problems._

_Emily did take some time to adjust to her new home. There were some tears and “bad dreams.” John took it all in his stride — he is a wonderful father. Eventually, Em got used to her Peter Rabbit room in the dark and how to find the toilet and where the cereal is kept. And finding me in bed beside her papa in the middle of the night._

_Which leads me to one of the other challenges we faced: Sex._

_I had not engaged in any kind of sexual activity in so long that it had become a distant memory for me. John had never had sex with a man. We decided to give ourselves time to get used to ordinary intimacies (kissing, touching, holding each other, seeing each other naked when getting dressed, sharing the bathroom in the morning, sleeping together). John insisted these were very important, and I suppose he was quite right. By the time we felt ready to proceed beyond grunting and groping under the duvet in the early hours before Emily came to wake us, I was already very familiar with John’s body and he with mine._

_We decided to send Emily to her Uncle Greg and Aunt Molly for the night, though. Good thing, too — apparently, I am a “screamer.” I will note, for the record, that John is hardly quiet himself._

_The last barrier to finding peace in our new life together was the work._

_I was not worried that we would stop solving crimes together. In spite of the fact that John has become somewhat more cautious since Emily’s birth, I have no doubt that I will always find him by my side, gun at the ready. No, I was concerned that there would be very little time for experimentation and foot chases in between ballet classes and mini-gymnastics._

_It has taken some very careful scheduling on our part. Along with a wonderful childminder, occasional help from Mrs. Hudson, Uncle Greg and Aunt Molly (though they are now fully occupied with their son, Ronan), and a tremendous amount of negotiation. Somehow, we are managing._

_John tells me it will get easier when Em is in school full time, but I am not unhappy with our situation._

_You might imagine that my family is overjoyed at this turn of events. I try to ignore my mother’s mindless prattle about having a grandchild. My father is entirely besotted with Emily and has made it quite clear that he will be very disappointed should I do “anything to all” to mess this up. Emily is fond of them and has taken to calling them Grandma and Grandpa._

_Unfortunately, she also seems to be quite fond of my brother and Mycroft — as unlikely as it seems — returns her affection. Last week, I found him cross-legged on the floor in the sitting room having a tea party with Emily and Mr. Turtle._

_He threatened my life (always good for a laugh) should I tell anyone. I have the photos on my phone. Perhaps we should have them framed and send them to him for Christmas._

_In short, this is nothing like the life I expected to be living. It is not without its difficulties, but I would not go back. I do not think I could._

_John will continue to diarise our adventures together, which at one time I believed would reflect the sum total of my life’s achievements. Now, however, I look forward to the joys of seeing our daughter grow up and find her own path._

_If any part of me survives in Emily, then I will judge my life to have been a success._

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mellow-maromi for agreeing to beta this fic on incredibly short notice :)


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